


For The Irony, For The Fun, For Everything That Matters

by Signe_chan



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Era, M/M, Not everyone dies, Some People Live, but not everyone survived the barricade, redemptive sex, there are no character deaths within the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signe_chan/pseuds/Signe_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The barricade had fallen. </p><p>There had been heavy losses. Jean Prouvaire, taken by the guards and shot. The girl, Eponine, the first to fall. Gavroche, daring to walk in front of the barricade to bring them the ammunition they’d needed. </p><p>And yet, Enjolras lived.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The Irony, For The Fun, For Everything That Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Trojie for Beta reading <3

The barricade had fallen. 

There had been heavy losses. Jean Prouvaire, taken by the guards and shot. The girl, Eponine, the first to fall. Gavroche, daring to walk in front of the barricade to bring them the ammunition they’d needed. 

And yet, Enjolras lived. 

It had been Cosette, coming to the barricade when she did, that had saved them. She’d crept in under the disguise of a soldier, having received a note from Marius, and pulled them all to her side. Explained how they might at least make an attempt to be free. How they all had people who loved them or people who might love them and they had a duty to try to live. 

Slowly, they had taken her side, until Enjolras found himself with only Grantaire beside him, hand heavy on Enjolras’s shoulder. 

They had followed Cosette’s plan. 

The guard had been entirely unprepared when they came over the top of the barricade. Rushed towards the loaded guns. By the time anyone could think to fire they were already among the guards and such a thing was impossible. 

There had still been fighting, of course. Bossuet had been injured quite badly, with it falling to Bahorel to pull him out. Marius had been cut protecting Cosette. Courfeyrac had nearly been pulled away from them and lost but for the timely intervention of Combeferre. 

And then they had been through the guards and running away into the street. Pursued, until a citizen opened his door and took them in. Gave them sanctuary. Saved their lives. 

And yet, Enjolras was dead. 

For what was he without a barricade upon which to stand. The others had sighed relief and begun to think on what they might do with the lives that Cosette had so thoughtfully saved for them. Grieved the fallen, but looked to the future. 

What future could there be for Enjolras? He had, for years, built himself to the revolution. He had given it his every thought, his every hope. He loved none as he had loved Patria, held himself pure for her. All his life and his energy had been poured into the rebellion that would cause the people of Paris to rise up and throw off the shackles of their oppression. 

And the people had not risen. And the barricade had fallen, bringing his dreams with it. 

Which is how, almost a week later, Enjolras found himself lurking upon the street where Grantaire had a room. 

He paced the street twice, carefully not thinking about what he had come there for. He had left his own rooms under the pretense to himself that he needed only a stroll, and yet the idea had been fermenting in his mind for days and without his knowledge his feet had brought him here. 

He had given all for France, and she had not returned his affection. He was over, he must be destroyed as surely as his barricade had been. 

And who knew destruction better than Grantaire? 

He nearly walked away, but in the end he held to his courage and approached the building. Let himself in. Climbed the stairs to the run-down room that Grantaire occupied, and made himself knock to be let in. 

Grantaire seemed amazed to find him there. Which, perhaps, was understandable as Enjolras had never thought to visit him before. Though he knew the address. Of course, he knew the addresses of all of his group, should he need to send for them in an emergency. 

He had not thought of this kind of emergency when he committed them to memory. 

“Ah, our fearless leader,” Grantaire said, the familiar smirk quickly reacquainting itself with his lips. “What can it be that brings you here? Is it already time to begin the building of the barricade again?” 

Enjolras had no words. He reached forward, fisted his hands into the lapels of Grantaire’s shirt, and pulled him forwards into a bruising kiss. 

Enjolras’s first kiss. 

For a moment, Enjolras was pleased to say that the kiss did not move him in any way. He had always known that he was above such a thing, such a weakness. This strange crashing of mouths did not turn him to poetry, or declarations of love. 

Then, just as Enjolras intended to step back, Grantaire recovered from his stupor. He raised his hands and settled one firmly on Enjolras’s hip, the other snaking up Enjolras’s back to bring them closer together. He angled his head, closed his eyes, and began to move. Teasing Enjolras’s lips, nipping at them and kissing them and coaxing Enjolras’s lower lip into his mouth before letting go and kissing him fully away. 

Enjolras’s knees began to melt. 

He forced himself to pull back a little, to scan the room and find Grantaire’s bed. While Grantaire was still blinking at him as though in a daze, he took the other man by the hand and dragged him over, laying him out on the mattress. 

The poor light did nothing to disguise the fact that Grantaire was as far from the models of classical beauty as one could be, with his wild hair and overly large nose and wide eyes. But Enjolras had not come here for beauty, not tonight. 

He climbed up on top of Grantaire, unsure of how to do this but suspecting closeness would help. He leant in for another kiss. 

Grantaire allowed it, but with less enthusiasm this time, and after a moment he placed his hand on Enjolras’s chest and pushed him back. 

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked. 

“I know that I’m a fool to be doing this, but I need to ask, what are we doing?” 

“Surely, that is obvious,” Enjolras said, pressing down and stealing another kiss before he was rolled unceremoniously and dumped on his side. He blinked into Grantaire’s face, unusually sober and sharp. 

“Again, I am a fool, but even when one’s every desire presents itself, one must ask the source. Why are you here, Enjolras?” 

“Can you not just accept that I want you?” 

“I wish that I could,” Grantaire said with a hollow laugh. “Oh how I wish it, but are you not always telling me to be serious? Now I shall be. You don’t want me. If you did you could have come to me a million times before now, and instead you turned away. But now, when your cause is lost, suddenly I find you eager to climb into my bed.” 

“I held myself apart before,” Enjolras said. The truth, if not all of it. “There is no need for that now. The barricade has fallen. I am not a leader any more. Not a chief. I am just a man.” 

“And still a man who has never before looked at me with care in his eyes and doesn’t do so now. I look at you, Enjolras, and I see only desperation.” 

“Why does it matter? As you’ve said, you’ve wanted this. I’ve seen how you look at me. Everyone knows. Well, I’m here. Won’t you take me?” 

“Certainly not if that’s what you think of me,” Grantaire growled, rolling away and standing, and Enjolras was left in shock, wondering how this had gone so wrong for him. He swung himself round to the edge of the bed but stayed back, away from where Grantaire was pacing. 

“I fail to see what is so wrong me in acknowledging your desire for me.” 

“Ah, desire, he says,” Grantaire cried. “As though that is all this is. A quick fuse that will quickly burn itself out. Oh, that it could be sated with so small a flame.” 

“You do not desire me?” 

“I love you.” 

“Grantaire.” 

“No, let me speak. To me, you are as the sun. Bright and untouchable. I carry passion for you, yes, but not just in the sense that I would bed you. I desire for your happiness. I desire for your comfort. I desire for your success so that I came to the barricade and held a gun even when I believed it would kill me that you might not die alone. 

“You come here now asking this of me as if it’s nothing but you don’t think of the cost to your soul. To my soul. Enjolras, I cannot just sleep with you. To have you but not to truly have you? No, it’s better to love from afar than to hold once and never know. 

“And why are you here? Why me? I think I might tell. It’s not some long hidden desire for me, is it? No, your campaign has failed and now you crawl. Now you sully yourself with the petty concerns of mortal men. A god come to harm himself among humanity. I will not be your knife, your flame. If it is self-immolation you seek, there are many women in the street who will burn with you.” 

Enjolras's heart cried on him to deny it, to wipe that broken look from Grantaire’s eyes, but how could he deny what was true? He had come here tonight to dirty himself. To become common and low and another lost soul in the teeming mass of humanity. 

And he had been rejected even from this. 

“Then what should I do?” he found himself asking. “Oh font of all knowledge, tell me how to go on. All I have fought for lies in ruins. My friends are dead and injured. My purpose gone. What is my other choice?” 

Silence, while he studied the floor. He had not meant to lay himself bare like that but he could not leave a remark from Grantaire unanswered, not even now. Then feet approached, the bed dipped as Grantaire sat beside him. 

“Oh Apollo,” Grantaire said, his voice soft. “As though one loss could dim you? So this was not a victory, we must all take our punches. There is still work for you to do. Maybe you will not lead the rebellion, but there are those you can help. Perhaps not in the ways you hoped but in other, smaller ways. 

“And you talk as though you have lost everything. Politics are not the sum of human experience, Enjolras. What of friendship? Family? Love?” 

“I have no love but for France.” 

“Then maybe I will help,” Grantaire said, reaching over for his hand. “For you see, I have so much love that it hurts me. I won’t be your sin, but perhaps you will let me show you my love?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Must we be so blunt? I would take you to bed, my bed, tenderly and shower you with my affection.” 

“Is that not what I came here for?” 

“No, you came here to fuck,” Grantaire said, almost shocking Enjolras with his coarseness. “For something quick and dirty and almost painful, that you would hold as a regret. Instead I offer you tenderness. Perhaps, maybe, a sliver of hope. Would you take it?” 

Enjolras was unsure what to say, but he nodded. 

“Oh my Apollo,” Grantaire whispered. “That you love this world so much but know so little of it.” Grantaire’s hands came up to cup Enjolras’s face, almost impossibly gently. “Close your eyes, I will take care of you.” 

Enjolras closed his eyes. 

The first kisses landed as soft as butterflies, first one eyelid then the other, then trailing down his cheek like tears, until they landed gently upon his lips, almost reverently. He tilted his head back for them, expecting that passion that had come earlier, but they stayed soft, trailing across his lips then down to his neck, brushing against his pulse in a way that made him shiver. 

The kisses chased across his exposed collarbone, hands sliding around to unhook his shirt and run tenderly along his spine. He arched into the touch, seeking more, but it was kept soft and gentle, almost overwhelmingly so. 

And then the hands were lifting the shirt up and off. Enjolras moved to help and let his eyes drift open as he did. Grantaire was regarding him as one might look upon one’s salvation, the culmination of all of one’s desires. He shut his eyes again to block it out, to be looked at like that when he felt at his lowest was too much. 

Grantaire hummed and then his hands were back, having no doubt set the shirt aside. They skimmed Enjolras’s stomach, light warmth coving him, then the feather-fall kisses began again where they’d left, trailing down his chest until they found a nipple. 

If Enjolras had thought of what to expect, he might have expected care but instead Grantaire found his nipple and bit it gently, sending a shock of sensation through Enjolras’s body. He gasped, arched his back. 

Then that mouth trailed away again too soon, down across his stomach. Gentle hands pushed him and he obliged them by lying back in the sheets, relaxing almost against his will into the mess of blankets as the hands and the mouth continued their work. 

He hadn’t known that it might be like this. That he might feel like this. Maybe this was why so many fell to the distractions of the flesh. 

And then Grantaire was shifting, hands and mouth leaving Enjolras as he pulled himself up. Enjolras allowed his eyes to open so that he could see Grantaire hovering above him, studying him. 

“It’s okay,” Grantaire said, his mouth twisting into a bitter parody of a grin. “You needn’t look at me. Close your eyes and imagine who you like.” 

Enjolras shook his head, reached up and threaded his fingers through Grantaire's hair. 

“It is you I’m here with, I am not in the business of regretting my decisions.” 

Grantaire flushed prettily and tried to duck his head away but Enjolras pulled him in again, gently as he could, for a soft kiss. He kept his own touch as light and teasing as Grantaire's had been, which was difficult when pressed so completely under the weight of the other man. 

“Apollo,” Grantaire breathed against his lips.

“Pretty, but I would prefer my own name.” 

“Enjolras.” 

“Much better.” 

They kissed again, slow and luxurious, as though they had all the time in the world. Enjolras allowed his hands to slide from Grantaire’s hair across his shoulders, his back. He was so warm and alive under Enjolras’s hands. Somehow, he’d always thought that the man might be cold to the touch, diminished somehow by the bitterness inside of him. He wasn’t, though. 

Grantain ended the kiss after what was surely years, trailing down again to the juncture of Enjolras’s neck and pressing kiss after fevered kiss there, biting and sucking in a way Enjolras was sure would leave a bruise but didn’t care. He arched up into it, pressing their bodies as close together as he could. 

“Shirt,” he gasped. “Take it off.” 

“I don’t have to,” Grantaire said, pulling back a little. “I’m not…” 

“Let me feel you,” Enjolras insisted. He found the hem of the shirt and after that it came off easily enough, Grantaire sitting still and allowing himself to be kissed. Enjolras wasn’t sure why he protested - underneath it he was much like any other man. 

Enjolras lay back again, bringing Grantaire with him so that they could finally be pressed together, the feel of warm flesh on his. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire gasped, the word sounding almost like prayer, and Enjolras felt a heat surge in him, a desire for action, so he rolled them quickly so that Grantaire was the one spread out below. 

Enjolras studied him for a second, ran his own pale hands over Grantaire’s dark skin. Then he leant over and followed the trail of his hand with kisses. He eagerly tasted every part of Grantaire’s chest that was available to him, reveling in the gasps and moans his actions produced from Grantaire’s lips. And how had he not noticed before how fine those lips were? He noticed now and pulled himself up to kiss them. 

“Enjolras.” His name in prayer again and Enjolras traced his way down, pausing only to suck a bruise into Grantaire's collar. He followed the trail of hair on Grantaire’s stomach down to his britches then stopped. 

It seemed almost too intimate to go on, but this was surely what he was here for? Gently, he opened them, eased them down as Grantaire lay there, too wrecked to stop him. 

He worked until Grantaire was laid out naked before him. Open and vulnerable and his. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, reaching for him. “Come here, let me touch you.” So he did, sliding back up the bed and laying on top of Grantaire. He was hard now in his own britches and the heat of Grantaire pressed naked against his length made him grasp. 

“You are too good,” Grantaire whispered. “I am ruined.” 

“I will ruin you more yet.” 

“Please.” 

“I may require some guidance,” Enjolras flushed, but Grantaire didn’t seem disturbed. He simply pushed up, went to the chest of drawers in his room where he retrieved a jar. Enjolras took it from him curiously and found it to be some kind of grease. 

“Why?” 

“A woman becomes wet for you. A man won’t, so you must create your own wetness,” Grantaire said. He plunged his fingers into the grease and twisted and Enjolras felt the flush rise on his cheeks as he realised what Grantaire was doing, where he was putting his fingers. He hadn’t properly considered what exactly he was asking for when he came here. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked now.

“It is uncomfortable, a little, at first,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “But then it will be wonderful.” 

“If you’re sure,” Enjolras said, then he leant forward to kiss and that seemed to distract Grantaire from how uncomfortable the thing he was doing might be. 

Presently, Grantaire drew back and dipped his fingers into the pot again. This time he reached forward and wrapped his hand around Enjolras, causing him to gasp and shudder. He had handled himself before, of course, as he needed, but it had never felt like Grantaire’s slick fingers on him. 

“Good?” 

“Too good,” Enjolras gasped. If he couldn’t stand this, how might he stand more? 

“Good. How do you want me? On my front? On display for you?” 

“No,” Enjolras flushed. “Let me see your face.” 

“Ah, if you so desire,” Grantaire said, with a lazy shrug as though he didn’t quite understand why Enjolras would choose that. 

Then he pushed Enjolras back into the pillows, moved to straddle his hips. Lined up. Sank down. 

The feel of it was a million times more intense than Grantaire’s hand alone. Enjolras gasped, his hands flying to Grantaire’s hips to hold him still. Grantaire smiled, continued to lower himself gently until he was seated fully in Enjolras’s lap, his own hardness straining between then. 

He reached down and gently ran his hands over Enjolras, even the simplest of touches being almost too much. Enjolras was unsure how long he could stand this. 

“Please,” he gasped. “Please, Grantaire. Move.” 

“Yes,” Grantaire gasped, and he began to move, lifting and falling around Enjolras and Enjolras found his hips taking the rhythm of their own accord, words bubbling unbidden from his throat. 

“Grantaire. Oh yes, Grantaire. Please. Please, it is too much. Please don’t stop, Grantaire.” Every time he said Grantaire’s name, Enjolras couldn’t help but notice a flash of pleasure chasing over the other man’s face, so intense and full of longing and beauty. 

Enjolras felt wild. He was at the edge of his control, at the edge of the world. Every part of his body had come alive and was singing to him of pleasure and joy and all of the great things that this world could bring to him. 

And of Grantaire. 

Enjolras arrived with a shudder, Grantaire’s name spilling from his mouth as he lost himself completely to the flood of pleasure their actions had unleashed. 

For a moment he was distant, drifting in a haze of pleasure as Grantaire continued, gasping and writhing above him until he too came, painting their stomachs between them, and collapsed, boneless, onto Enjolras. 

“We will do that again,” Enjolras said, when he felt that he had regained his senses a little. 

“As many time as you’ll have me.” 

“Good,” Enjolras said, tightening his arms around Grantaire. The other man lay against him, loose and peaceful in his release, and with the troubles of the world lifted from him for but a second, he looked beautiful. 

Enjolras would have him look like that all the time. Only maybe not exactly like this. Not outside of bed. This exact face was his only to see, now. 

Outside of the window, the rain began to fall, and as Grantaire courted sleep in his arms, Enjolras’s mind drifted to renewal. To new goals and new plans and new hopes. To new futures, and the possibility that he might have one. 

Soon, he too slept.


End file.
